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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657982">like a virgin (touched for the very first time)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/2014castiel/pseuds/2014castiel'>2014castiel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 05, Sexual Content, Smut, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), actually u know what, and repressed bisexual dean, idk this is like. set in season 5 ok, just . early Soldier Of God cas, think of early cas, this cld be like s5 to s9 cas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/2014castiel/pseuds/2014castiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He gathers his strength, prepares himself for what's about to happen, and he says through gritted teeth, "okay. You have to be doing it wrong, so I'll... I'll show you." </p><p>Castiel starts to flounder, mouth opening and closing in puzzlement. "What? But I thought you said — " </p><p>"Yeah, I know what I said," he quips, temper already trickling up and rising. He starts making his way over to one of the two beds against the wall on the other side of the room and he begins rearranging some of the stuff there, pushing the pillows further up the bed, pulling the sheet over them. While he's doing this task, he continues absently, "just — don't talk about whatever is gonna happen after we're done, okay? We will never speak of this again — especially to Sammy." </p><p> </p><p>(Or, alternatively: the one where Cas keeps getting horny and doesn't know what to do about it until Dean shows him the ropes.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like a virgin (touched for the very first time)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean was minding his own business — actually researching a case for once since Sam was out getting them some food — when he hears a crash come from the motel bathroom, followed by an abrupt curse. On instinct, his hand goes to the gun resting on the kitchen table, cocking it back with skilled fingers and rising from his seat, making his way over to where the sound came from. </p><p> </p><p>Logically, he knew him and Castiel were the only ones in the motel room, but with how many particularly gruesome deaths that were happening in this town — and his guess was already a ghost — he was already on edge. Fingers itching to rest on the trigger, to pull it and hear the bang go off, he stops in front of the motel bathroom, eyes trained on the gap between the door and the doorframe. He could see movement from inside, but couldn't quite make out what was going on through the foggy, smudged mirror, so he counts to three and kicks the door open with so much force that it smacked against the wall and left a spidering web of a crack that he knew he'd be asked to pay for. </p><p> </p><p>With so much going on at once, he felt like everything that had occurred happened within a span of two heartbeats. His eyes land on someone, flushed red and half dressed, but has no time to react before he gets pinned up against the bathroom wall, feet lifting off the floor an inch or two, gun slipping from his grip from the force and falling with a loud, rattling clank. He immediately tries to resist, hands coming up to the shoulders of his attacker to try to push them away, but goes limp as soon as his eyes met theirs. </p><p> </p><p>Within inches of his own face is Castiel, eyes rimmed red and irritated but still so blue and hair so damp with sweat that it was sticking to his forehead like tape. </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Castiel so disheveled and so <em>not himself</em> has all the fight and adrenaline that was coursing through his veins leave his body in two seconds flat. It has him feeling a little unsteady and he leans back on the wall a little more, eyebrows furrowing down in confusion. Castiel was absolutely debauched, his breath coming out shaky and heavy and Dean grew even more concerned when Castiel still had not said anything, still pushing Dean up against the wall with a force Dean was no competition to.  </p><p> </p><p>Gathering his thoughts, he finally manages out a, "Cas?" </p><p> </p><p>It seemed to snap Castiel out of the trance he was in, eyes blinking a few times before fading back into that blank, serious type stare he does and he hobbles back a few feet, Dean's weight finally falling back on his feet so suddenly that he lets out a small <em>oof</em> before steadying himself. </p><p> </p><p>"My apologies, Dean," he stammers, voice gravelly and unsteady. "Something odd is happening to me and I'm not sure what it is. Do you think the spell that witch from Utah cast on me is finally taking affect? Do you think it has a delayed reaction?" </p><p> </p><p>Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Castiel's words keep stumbling out. </p><p> </p><p>"It would be unusual, but I suppose it isn't impossible. She was, after all, a very peculiar witch. What sort of witch casts spells that make you hot all over?" he rambles, words jumbled up and stuttery. His hands come up to run through his already messy hair, making it stick up in all sorts of directions, eyes crazy and bloodshot. The words keep coming, "even so... wouldn't the spell stop working once she was dead? You guys <em>did</em> manage to kill her, correct? Well, yes, obviously, since I was there and saw it happen. Although, maybe she — " </p><p> </p><p>"Cas, hey," Dean interjects in disbelief, all shocked and taken aback. Castiel immediately shuts up then, breathing loudly and rushed through his nose. He looks insane and Dean was starting to feel a little nervous. What if the witch really did cast a spell on him? </p><p> </p><p>Dean scrambles to come up with something to say. "It'll be okay, buddy. Just... explain to me what's going on? Why are you all red?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel looks astounded for a second, mouth open in a stunned silence before he clears his throat. "Well... this sort of thing has been going on for a few days — actually, I believe this has been happening for a while but it had never been as serious as this, and I…" </p><p> </p><p>He stops suddenly, pausing for a second, eyes darting up to meet Dean's. Dean gives a nod to let him know that he's still listening, and Castiel licks his lips before continuing. </p><p> </p><p>"...My body is hot — all over. It occurred before occasionally, but on this case especially. It is as though my vessel is burning up from the inside, and there is this... <em>feeling</em>. I can sense it deep in my abdomen and it makes this vessel perspire — er, I sweat. I had never truly felt before I met you, but even more so, I had never felt whatever this is. I do not know if this is normal." </p><p> </p><p>When he pauses again, he stares straight at the floor, almost like he's ashamed. The next part that comes is so quiet that it's barely audible. Under his breath, he whispers, "I am... frightened." </p><p> </p><p>Dean doesn't know what to say. Seeing Castiel so vulnerable and small was so different to what Dean had seen of him up until now, and he doesn't know how to react. </p><p> </p><p>"Buddy, it's okay," Dean begins, voice low but firm, speaking as though he is talking to a scared deer; on edge and easily spooked. Castiel seems to flinch at his words and Dean stops talking for a second. His breath didn't seem to slow down, and he looks antsy — like he has trouble standing still. </p><p> </p><p>"I... My apologies. I do not know what is happening to me," Castiel reiterates. His hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck — such an odd, human gesture coming from the angel that Dean was stunned into another silence. "I do know, however, that I do not like when you call me that — at least right at this moment. It feels... odd." </p><p> </p><p>Dean is confused at that. "What? Do you mean 'buddy'?" </p><p> </p><p>A pregnant pause, then a small nod. </p><p> </p><p>Dean looks off to the side, staring at the paint chipping off the walls, brain running a million miles per minute trying to come up with a solution to what was happening and he bites idly at his lower lip. In his peripheral, he sees Castiel watch the action closely, his nostrils flaring, his cheeks flushing red. It seemed to click for Dean, then.</p><p> </p><p>The pressure in the lower belly. The fidgeting. The feeling of heat.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn't a spell. </p><p> </p><p>It was <em>lust</em>. </p><p> </p><p>With that thought now at the forefront of Dean's brain, Dean takes in Castiel's appearance. He seems like he was going to take a shower — which was odd even in itself — as the shower curtain was pulled back and he had discarded his trench coat and suit jacket. The top buttons on his white dress shirt are undone, the tie hanging loosely around his neck, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Dean's eyes dared to look down and — <em>yup </em>— the belt to Castiel's slacks was unbuckled, open and half threaded through the loops around his waistband and the bulge there — </p><p> </p><p>It was —</p><p> </p><p>Dean lets out a nervous little laugh, his eyes immediately flicking back up, not wanting to look down any more than he has to, his face heating up considerably. How could Castiel not have known? How could Dean not have known? </p><p> </p><p>"Cas... It-It isn't... It's not..." He can barely get the words out. Dean himself is almost as flustered as Castiel is at this point, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, hands tightening into fists by his sides. </p><p> </p><p>And Castiel, even in the state that he's in, manages to furrow his brows and tilt his head like a confused puppy — the way he always does. Dean manages to let out a huff of a laugh through his nose, heartbeat tumbling over itself. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to someone who is as old as time itself. </p><p> </p><p>"It's not... It wasn't the witch — don't worry. You're an angel, buddy. I don't think her level of spell work could affect you in the slightest," Dean offers, trying to calm Castiel down. somehow, though, it manages to get Castiel even more ruffled—as if the one and only idea he had come up with had been crushed under Dean's boot. "What is it, then, Dean? If not the witch, then what? Is my vessel finally rejecting me? Is it because Heaven has finally cut off my supply of grace? Is it the work of another angel? Is it—" </p><p> </p><p>"Woah, okay, Cas! Calm down! I know what it is, and you're gonna be fine." </p><p> </p><p>That seemed to help, finally, as Castiel's head rises to look up at Dean, eyes shining bright with a little bit of hope and a little bit of <em>something else</em>. Dean swallows. </p><p> </p><p>"It's not what you think," Dean tries again. Castiel seems content to let Dean continue this time, eyes staring him down like a hunter stalking it's prey and <em>God</em>, Dean wants to be his prey. </p><p> </p><p>"It's... You're just horny." </p><p> </p><p>Silence follows them. Him and Castiel seem to have a bit of a staring contest, their eyes boring into each other. Castiel's eyes are blank — unforgiving — and Dean's eyes are full of longing, hoping Castiel would say something to get rid of the heaviness that floated in the air around them. Finally, <em>finally</em>, Castiel shakes his head. "It can't be. I am an Angel of the Lord." </p><p> </p><p>Dean chuckles. "You aren't so holy, cas. You were cast out of heaven, remember? And even before then, angels themselves are hardly innocent. Is it that hard to believe?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel continues to argue, refusing to believe what he was hearing. "I am a celestial being, Dean. I do not experience human needs, nor do I experience... arousal." </p><p> </p><p>"You're in a vessel, though — and look, you said it yourself, your grace is starting to diminish. Maybe you're becoming more human. You even ate some of Sam's fries the other day," he says in a hurry, trying to get everything out all at once, trying his best to get Castiel to understand. "You're starting to need to eat — to sleep. This could also just be part of it." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel is quiet for a minute, and Dean takes that opportunity to push him back a bit so that he can get past him into the main area of the motel room. He stumbles back slightly, jostling with the movement only because he <em>allows</em> Dean to move him, and lets him rush right past him. When Dean is finally out of Castiel's proximity, finally out of the heated stare he was on the receiving end of, he's able to breathe a sigh of relief. Instantly, he makes his way over to the small area in the corner that could hardly be considered a kitchen, pulling the fridge open in search of a very needed beer. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel follows him out — because of course he does, he'll follow Dean anywhere — and promptly stops behind him. Dean found the beer already, but he stays crouched, head tucked in the fridge. The cold air helps him cool off a bit, and he also really doesn't want to face Castiel after they've both had this revelation. Dean doesn't like confrontation, especially ones this itchingly uncomfortable. </p><p> </p><p>After a few moments, though, Dean is finally forced to grab the beer and lift his head back up, the air of the motel suddenly feeling ten times hotter than it was before, making Dean's cheeks pink back up all over again. He closes the door with a small smack and turns back around, backing up slightly when he realizes Castiel is back to being fully dressed and is suddenly <em>way</em> too close for comfort. </p><p> </p><p>"Cas — <em>space</em>," he chokes out, hoping Castiel would move back at the plea. </p><p> </p><p>He stays in place, however, eyeing Dean like a kid in a candy store — like he was seeing him all over again for the first time. The swallow that Dean manages to produce is so loud that you can hear the click in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Seemingly satisfied, Castiel backs off slightly, taking a step back. That confused expression is back, though, and his eyes are back to being glued to the floor, looking more interested in all the small tufts of fabric in the carpet than what he wants to say. "I don't... How do I get rid of this feeling?" </p><p> </p><p>Dean is dumbfounded. "What do you mean?" </p><p> </p><p>"This... 'arousal' as you call it — I do not like it. Does it not only happen while you are fornicating? Why is it happening to me all of the time?" </p><p> </p><p>Dean's head starts going fuzzy, like a bad television blaring white noise. Castiel goes on, oblivious to Dean's stunned silence, "even now, it's..." </p><p> </p><p>"Okay!" Dean cuts him off. He doesn't want Castiel to continue, this conversation was already so... </p><p> </p><p>"So, how do I make it so I do not feel this arousal anymore?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel seemed so... unaffected by the words that were coming out of his mouth. Dean is at a loss for words and Castiel is so unashamed of this talk of his arousal that — and he's surprised he didn't do this sooner — Dean breaks out in a laughing fit. He's so uncomfortable that he does what he does best. </p><p> </p><p>He puts on his fake face. </p><p> </p><p>"Have you not tried whacking one off?" He jokes in between giggles with a smile too big that it feels wrong. Castiel's eyes narrow. Taking the silence as his answer, Dean continues, face lit up with false brightness, "you know — jerking off? Cranking one out?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel is so hopelessly confused that it makes Dean's grin fall slightly. He's going to have to spell this out for him, isn't he? </p><p> </p><p>"Have you ever... masturbated before?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel's mouth opens on an <em>oh</em>, eyebrows rising up all the way to his hairline, eyes wide and blue blue <em>blue</em>. "Well, I… Yes. I have tried to." </p><p> </p><p>Dean tries to push back all the images that come to mind, images of Castiel laying on a bed with that stupid trench coat, slacks shoved down his thighs, too worked up to fully undress. Hips bucking slightly, hands running down his chest, down past the waistband of his boxers, down to finally touch his — </p><p> </p><p>"And?" </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Aaand</em> it didn't work. I do not understand how it is supposed to work, but I tried and I experienced discomfort, so I did not do it again." </p><p> </p><p>Dean makes a face at that. "What? It's not supposed to hurt." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel tsks, muttering something uncoherent under his breath. "I know that, but it definitely did not feel good. What is this fascination you humans have with fornication if it feels like that?" </p><p> </p><p>"You're doing it wrong, then." </p><p> </p><p>"No, I am not. Manual stimulation does not seem all that hard to do, Dean. All you do is grab it and pull up and down until — " </p><p> </p><p>" — Okay! You can stop now!" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel looks frustrated, but thankfully stops talking. Dean can't believe he's going to have to explain to an <em>angel</em> how to jack off correctly — something he'd never believe he'd have to do if you were to have asked him a few years ago. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, well..." Dean begins, voice treading lightly as if he's driving Baby down a rocky incline. "You're obviously doing it wrong if it hurts. It's meant to feel good. I can't really show you, but..." </p><p> </p><p>"Oh. Why can't you?" </p><p> </p><p>Dean shuts up at that. What? </p><p> </p><p>"What? Why the fuck <em>would</em> I? I don't know if you know this, Cas, but that kind of shit is kind of <em>personal </em>and you definitely don't do that shit with other guys," he snaps defensively, already beginning to back up, leaning his weight on his heels, trying to get as far away from this conversation as he possibly could. He doesn't like where this whole thing was headed ( — but <em>God</em>, he really does.) He's just so<em> terrified </em>and he doesn't know if he could take this sort of ridicule if this all happened to be 'Prank Dean Day'. </p><p> </p><p>"I see."</p><p> </p><p>Castiel looks so defeated. The hope that flickered in his eyes before has<em> long</em> but burnt out by now, his shoulders slumped, the redness running down his chest and on his ears beginning to fade back to that usual shade of pale he is, his mental walls coming back up hurriedly to protect himself. Dean probably shouldn't have lashed out when Castiel seemed to be in such a vulnerable state, but... </p><p> </p><p>God. </p><p> </p><p>Dean sighs, eyes falling closed, letting out a long sigh through his nose. Was he really considering this? </p><p> </p><p>Yeah, he kind of was. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay! Okay. Stop giving me that look." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel's eyes shift from that death stare back to that astonished look, the kind that happens when Dean says or does something that catches him off guard. He seems so small when he looks like that and Dean doesn't know how to feel about it. </p><p> </p><p>Well, he supposes there is one thing he could do to help him. He gathers his strength, prepares himself for what's about to happen, and he says through gritted teeth, "okay. You have to be doing it wrong, so I'll... I'll show you." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel starts to flounder, mouth opening and closing in puzzlement. "What? But I thought you said — " </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I know what I said," he quips, temper already trickling up and rising. He starts making his way over to one of the two beds against the wall on the other side of the room and he begins rearranging some of the stuff there, pushing the pillows further up the bed, pulling the sheet over them. While he's doing this task, he continues absently, "just — don't talk about whatever is gonna happen after we're done, okay? We will never speak of this again — especially to Sammy." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel manages to gather himself by the time Dean turns back around with hands on his hips, eyes coming up to lock on him. Castiel is back to that blank stare, eyes peering into him, hands fisted at his sides. If Dean didn't know any better — if he didn't know Castiel like he does — he'd think he was stone cold, lacking of empathy and resolve; like that soldier of God he first met.  </p><p> </p><p>Dean does know him, though. He can tell by the minute clench in his jaw, by the way the vein on the side of his neck is popping out. </p><p> </p><p>He's nervous. </p><p> </p><p>"Here, just... Just sit down at the edge of the bed." </p><p> </p><p>When Castiel makes his way over, shoulder brushing past his, it starts to hit Dean like a ton of bricks. He's going to show Castiel how to touch himself. Oh, God. </p><p> </p><p>He looks back to Castiel when he hears the bed dip with a squeak and — <em>of course </em>— he's sitting on the edge of bed just like Dean asked, hands folded in his lap, twiddling his thumbs in an anxious sort of way — so <em>humanlike</em>. When Dean walks away to where his duffle bag is, in search of things they might need — things he <em>refuses</em> to dwell on — he almost feels bad for teasing him, having him stew in his own thoughts and feelings for a moment. Almost. </p><p> </p><p>When he goes to face Castiel, to make his way back over to him and drop the stuff on the bed absentmindedly, he notices Castiel is <em>sweating</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Clearing his throat, Dean pipes up with a, "so how long did you say this had been happening?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel doesn't answer for a moment, too entranced with the way Dean's deft fingers have started to unbutton his dress shirt. "I..." </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel waits until Dean is finished with his task to answer as he's currently busy pushing him out of his trench coat and suit jacket, shoving the dress shirt over his shoulders so it hangs around his forearms, his chest exposed. Splotches of red litter his torso, marking all the way from his neck down to his tummy. </p><p> </p><p><em>That's much better</em>, Dean thinks to himself. He ignores the fact that Castiel doesn't actually have to undress for this. </p><p> </p><p>"It's... been a few months at least, I would say. It wasn't this bad before, and it only happened occasionally, such as during the mornings or at night. I noticed certain things also trigger it, but sometimes it happens for no reason at all. It is all very confusing." </p><p> </p><p>Dean can't help pause his ministrations with a snort. "Things trigger it? Like what?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel goes silent. Dean is secretly aching to know the answer, but he decides to take pity on him instead and changes the subject. </p><p> </p><p>"Alright, we can start now, just — relax, okay? Watch what I'm doing." </p><p> </p><p>He drops down in front of Castiel, onto his knees, and he hears Castiel take in a sharp breath at the action. Dean's hands are shaky, but he tries to ignore it by grabbing Castiel's knees, pushing them apart with false confidence — as if he knows what he's doing. When his fingers make contact with Castiel's belt, pulling it free from his slacks and throwing it over his shoulder somewhere, they brush against the bulge there and Castiel's breath hitches, hips coming up slightly to chase the friction. Dean bites onto the inside of his cheek. He can feel the heat radiating off of Castiel onto his hands; they're absolutely <em>hot</em> with it and Dean can't possibly help but feel a tad bit hot, too. He tries to find his voice and he musters up a cocky, "steady there, partner. I'm just trying to get this off of you so we can get to the main course," but his voice sounds so high that he can't help but wince at it. </p><p> </p><p>He tries his best to avoid contact after that — more than he has to, at least — and he finally takes a breath when he's popped open Castiel's button and zipped down his slacks. He leans back a little on his feet, attempting to gather himself before he really starts. </p><p> </p><p>Trying his best to prolong the inevitable, he asks, "you sure you're okay with this? We can stop if you want." </p><p> </p><p>When Castiel doesn't reply immediately, his eyes dart up to see Castiel already staring at him with intent. With purpose. With <em>want</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Dean feels something stir inside him, a small throb somewhere low beginning to make itself known. He tries to get his attention again with a, "Cas?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel blinks a few times, throat bobbing heavily with a swallow and Dean's eyes can't help but track the movement. "You... Yes. I want this." </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah." </p><p> </p><p>And that's that, isn't it? </p><p> </p><p>He pulls Castiel's dress shirt away from his groin, resting the edges on either side of his hips and he rubs his hands up the inside of Castiel's thighs, thumbs making tiny circles in the fabric there. Dean can hear his breath pick up, the sound deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet room. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah. </p><p> </p><p>After breathing once, twice, he roams his hands up to the happy trail above Castiel's slacks, fingers scratching the hair there idly before he slips a hand lower, coming to cup the bulge there with featherlight pressure. As soon as he gets his hand on him, his fingers squeezing slightly to tease his already kindling cock to life, Castiel inhales sharply, his arm coming over to grab Dean's wrist with a death grip, hips thrusting up to grind against it, hissing through his teeth. </p><p> </p><p>Dean scrambles, not knowing what to do for a second because <em>fuck</em>, his grip on Dean is so tight that it's going to leave bruises. This is not what he was expecting to happen. Dean is positively spinning at how Castiel just seems to take what he wants. His fingers are digging into his wrist, the tips of his fingers going white with the pressure of it and <em>fuck</em> if that isn't the hottest shit Dean's ever seen. Just watching Castiel grab him and manipulate him without asking or without any hesitation at all, seeing the exact moment Castiel stops being gentle — to roll his hips up and just take and <em>take </em>— yeah, Dean might be stirring a little in his jeans. Somehow, though, after a moment Dean's brain manages to catch up with him and he musters up a meek, "Cas, hey — woah. It's alright. Easy there, sweetheart." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel seems to blink away some sort of fog that he was in, eyelids fluttering, and he gasps out, "ah, sorry, I-I didn't mean to." He reluctantly peels his fingers away from Dean's wrist and drops it, his hips flopping back down onto the bed with a slight bounce. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never felt this out of control." </p><p> </p><p>Dean holds himself back from cooing softly at his flustered state. Knowing he's going to take one of Castiel's firsts — his first fucking <em>orgasm</em> of all things — is maybe affecting him and his possessive nature more than he'd like to admit. His mouth waters a little at how genuinely <em>excited</em> he is to see how Castiel is going to react and he's shocked at how steady his voice comes out. "This is all new to you, right? It's bound to be confusing, but it's okay — you can let go a little. This is meant to be instructional, remember? You have to let go so you can understand how it's meant to feel." </p><p> </p><p>Castiel starts nodding hurriedly even before Dean is finished talking. He reaches back for Dean's hand, grabbing onto it with featherlight pressure, mouth open on unsaid words. Forgetting that he was meant to reply, Castiel blurts out a, "Yes. Yes, I... Can you continue, now? Please?" </p><p> </p><p>Well, what is he supposed to do when Castiel asked so nicely?</p><p> </p><p>"Of course," Dean purrs. </p><p> </p><p>And God, he does. </p><p> </p><p>He does by grazing his hand back over Castiel's clothed cock. He does by finally — <em>finally </em>— dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers and pulling it down, down past his cock, letting it slip past and bob freely now that it's not confined by fabric. He does by gripping it with trembling hands, running his thumb over the slit to spread the slick there, using it to make the slide easier. </p><p> </p><p>And all the while, Castiel is making these quiet, short little gasps and it's like music to Dean's ears. It's as if he's not even aware of it, soft, small little <em>ah ah ah</em>'s escaping past his parted lips with every stroke of Dean's hand. It's like he had no idea — <em>no idea</em> that it would feel like this. Every noise that tumbles out of his lips is like he's in shock; like he gets surprised with every upturn of Dean's hand. His eyes are half lidded and misty, angled downwards at Dean — and not even on what he's doing to his cock. They're fixed solely on his face — on his <em>eyes </em>— with that stare that he always does and Dean's trying his best not to look up. <em>God</em>, he can't look up. If he does, he's worried he won't be able to look away. He feels like Castiel is analyzing him — like he's studying him, looking right through him. His heart quivers and aches just a little bit at the thought. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel is leaking like crazy, too, making a mess of Dean's hand and his boxers, the fabric dampening and darkening with it. Dean wants to say something — anything — to break the almost unbearable silence, but he can't find his voice. It got lost somewhere between the time that he finally got Castiel out of his boxers and the time Castiel made his first noise. He tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. </p><p> </p><p>" — 's it good, Cas?" </p><p> </p><p>And Castiel is looking at him with wild eyes, his pupils blown wide and nose flushed red. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out past his lips is a pathetic little whimper and <em>fuck</em>, Dean is so far gone. He's barely done anything yet and Castiel is already whining like he's never felt anything this good. </p><p> </p><p>Dean can't help but lean closer, closer into his lap, getting a bit more confident now that he knows what he's doing is good. He gently lays his arms across Castiel's lap to pin him down even though he<em> knows</em> Castiel could easily overpower him and <em>oh</em>, yeah, Castiel's thighs are trembling. <em>God</em>, that's — yeah. </p><p> </p><p>"Ah — <em>Shit</em>, Cas," he breathes, green eyes sparkling with desire. Castiel keens in response. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't quite know when Castiel started making these tiny little rocking motions against his arm with his hips, but he's not complaining. Dean is trying his best to hold it together, trying not to moan like a fucking <em>slut</em> because this isn't about him — but seeing Castiel lose himself to sensation and not even realize it is <em>doing</em> things to him. His own cock is pulsing pitifully in his jeans and he shifts on his knees to try to relieve at least <em>some</em> of the pressure there. </p><p> </p><p>His hand is still going, though, still pumping at a reasonable pace despite this but sounding so slick and raunchy from how much Castiel's cock is drooling. Dean's breathing is starting to pick up pace, his panting threatening to compete with Castiel's wheezes. </p><p> </p><p>"Dean, oh, <em>Dean </em>— ," Castiel cries out like a mantra, Dean's name coming out from stained, parted lips over and over like it's the only word in his vocabulary, ass coming up from the bed to chase the pleasure Dean's so happy to give to him. Dean is fucking throbbing in his jeans at the sound because he doesn't think his name has ever sounded so pornographic and dirty. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to hear it again without picturing Castiel with his nice, pristine slacks all damp and shoved down around his thighs haphazardly and his hips jerking up in sloppy figure-eights to meet the tight-gripped stroking on his leaking, flushed cock. </p><p> </p><p>" — 's okay, Cas, I-I got you," he whispers, voice trembling, eyes fixed on how Castiel is absolutely on <em>fire</em> and jerking pathetically against his palm, "I got you." </p><p> </p><p>"Dean," Castiel tries again, voice weak and breathy and high. "<em>Ah —</em> S-Something is happening, I don't..." </p><p> </p><p>"It's okay, don't worry — <em>ah, you're doing so well</em> — I'm so proud of you," Dean says almost absentmindedly, brain stumbling over his own words. He's too transfixed on the way Castiel's chest is rising and falling all rapidly and on the sweat that's beginning to trickle down his temple and <em>wow</em>, he doesn't think he'd ever really seen Castiel sweat before this. A rush of heat runs slow and thick like molasses through his veins at the realization that it was him that did that to Castiel. He's the one that made Castiel a moaning, shivering mess. Satisfaction starts to bloom like a rose behind Dean's ribs. </p><p> </p><p>He barely registers the deep moan that followed after his words, too busy rushing to continue with a stuttering, "you feel a, uh, warmth? Rising, like, in your lower stomach?" </p><p> </p><p>Castiel nods feverishly, almost like he wants Dean to stop talking and to just continue already. </p><p> </p><p>"That's — <em>shit </em>— T's your orgasm comin' up. You 'ont have to be afraid of it, 'tll feel fuckin' <em>awesome</em>," Dean manages to hiss out with a grin, voice all slurred and drunk on the way Castiel keeps pulsing hotly against the palm of his hand. Castiel just throws his head back with a gravelly keen in lieu of a response, his face all scrunched up and cocked towards the ceiling, his hands coming over to thread through Dean's hair and dig his nails into his scalp like he needs something to hold onto to stabilize him, too distracted by the way Dean is currently rubbing his thumb against his frenulum in tiny little circles. Dean can't help but groan at the pain of it, pleasure trickling down his back and collecting low in his tummy where it's nearly fit to burst. </p><p> </p><p>And with the way Castiel is dribbling out precome like a fucking faucet, Dean's mouth can't help but salivate at the sight, the insides of his cheeks stinging with it. He's never wanted a cock in his mouth so bad, had never even really thought of it before — <em>yes, he has </em>— and his vision goes white for a second with the sudden need to have one. The smell around him is so musky and heady that he has to swallow down some of the saliva that started pooling on his tongue. He's never been so needy during sex, never wanted the person so bad that he started going <em>insane</em> because of it. He's aching so bad in his jeans, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat that he's forced to bring his hand over and push his heel against the bulge there just to feel some sort of relief, immediately seeing stars. </p><p> </p><p>"Cas, I..." </p><p> </p><p>He can feel the way Castiel is thickening up further between his fingers, the tip of his cock turning almost purple with the pressure of his arousal. Dean doesn't have enough time — <em>knows</em> he doesn't have enough time — but that doesn't stop him from dipping his head down and licking a fat, wet stripe across the slit of Castiel's cock, tongue sparking and bursting with the salty taste of precome. It's so unlike anything he's ever tasted before. It's so bitter and it's so hot and it's so <em>Castiel</em> that Dean can't help but fucking whine, his tongue coming back up to lap at his cock over and over again. </p><p> </p><p>And yeah, maybe he shouldn't have done that — this was, after all, meant to be a simple visual instruction for Castiel to learn how to properly masturbate so he could do it himself from now on — but the way Castiel responds to it makes it infinitely worth it. He can stand to be a little selfish. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel cries out at the sensation with a surprised, choked off "<em>oh — </em>", his nails dig their way into Dean's scalp, pulling the hair there so hard that Dean's head is jerked to the side with the motion of it making him grunt out. Bursts of color flash behind his eyelids. Castiel is trembling, his hands absolutely <em>shaking</em>, cock bouncing in Dean's grip. Even his fucking thighs are shaking, the muscles there quivering and contracting with it. He's just so <em>sensitive </em>— overcome with so much pleasure that he doesn't know what to do about it and Dean can't help but take pity on him. His hand speeds up, the wet sound of his pumping so slick and sloppy to his ears that his whole face flushes red at the obscenity. His arm is already starting to burn with the quick, jerky pace he's set for himself. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Dean</em>," he groans, his voice breathless, his eyes wide and frantic. His entire body is twitching pathetically like can barely handle it. "<em>Ah — </em>" </p><p> </p><p>And he pops off like a rocket with a sharp gasp, back arching like a bow, going completely stiff for a moment before his whole body shakes with the force of it. Ribbons and ribbons shoot from him, painting Dean's shirt and his own slacks. Dean can't take his eyes off him, mesmerized by the way his mouth falls open on an <em>oh</em>, a long, drawn out groan tumbling past his lips, his eyes shining full with stars and planets and entire fucking galaxies. Dean throbs at the sight. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel's wracked with tremors, aftershocks washing over him like waves on a shore and Dean slows the movement of his hand. His cock's still dribbling, come trickling down Dean's fingers in little spurts. It's so hot that he can't help but want to lean down and take a taste of it for himself. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, though, once Castiel is finally spent, he reaches down weakly to push at Dean's arm until Dean caves, peeling his fingers away from his cock and pulling away, hovering in the air a bit. He doesn't know quite what to do now that his hand is stained in Castiel's... </p><p> </p><p>Shit. </p><p> </p><p>Like a ton of bricks, he's suddenly reminded of how achingly hard he is in his jeans — painfully so — and he's going to have to get up to get a tissue to wipe his hand off. He's going to have to get up and Castiel's going to see it. A sense of dread fills him, and yet, his cock refuses to back down, still pulsing hotly behind his zipper. </p><p> </p><p>He didn't realize it before, but Castiel's already tucked away and grabbing his hand, wiping it down with his abandoned trench coat, cleaning and swiping in between his fingers. When Dean looks up, he sees that Castiel is already staring at him, his face back to that neutral, cold sort of expression it always is. He knows, doesn't he? </p><p> </p><p>"You are hard," Castiel says matter-of-factly. His eyes are fixed on the bulge in Dean's jeans. Dean's entire face goes red. </p><p> </p><p>"I..." is all he manages to get out. </p><p> </p><p>"You have not ejaculated yet." </p><p> </p><p>"S-Stop bringing attention to it! I'm fine!" Dean exclaims, voice airy and worn out. Castiel mentioning it is making it worse, and a flash of embarrassed heat trickles down his spine. "Th-This was about you. I'm just gonna go to the bathroom and deal with this and we're never going to talk about it again, okay?" </p><p> </p><p>As soon as Dean makes his way to get up, Castiel lunges forward to grab his shoulder and push him back down on the ground with an <em>oof</em>, heat spreading low in his tummy at the casual show of strength. </p><p> </p><p>"No," Castiel declared, voice firm and just. "If... If you're..." </p><p> </p><p>He clears his throat and tries again. </p><p> </p><p>"I will help you." </p><p> </p><p>Dean's eyes widen at that. That's... Wait, what? Is Castiel only offering because he feels obligated to? Dean's stomach churns with discomfort. </p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, Cas, that's really... <em>considerate</em> of you, but I don't want to force you to do that," Dean mutters, low and sheepish. He has the urge to bury his face in his hands or rub the back of his neck, but his hand is still... </p><p> </p><p>"I want to," Castiel insists, voice hurried. "I-I really want to." His eyes shine with something — hope, maybe. Dean can't really tell and doesn't really bother to once his brain catches up with the fact that <em>oh </em>— Castiel said he wanted to. He can feel himself buzzing. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh," Dean breathes. "That's... <em>Oh</em>." </p><p> </p><p>And when Castiel leans over and his hand makes contact with the bulge in Dean's jeans, it's like thunder and lightning and entire <em>storm clouds</em> rain down in his tummy. It takes everything in him not to bust right there. Pleasure sparks behind his eyelids at the way Castiel is petting him, all stiff and hesitant. The friction against his cock makes him hiss through his teeth, too much but not <em>enough</em> at the same time. It hurts, but Dean can't bring himself to push Castiel away or ask him to pause his ministrations for as long as it'll take for Dean to pull himself out of his jeans. He's so hard that it aches, what with his cock having been ignored for the better part of an hour. </p><p> </p><p>Castiel's head snaps up to study Dean's face, eyes darting around until they land on his eyes. He seems... wired. </p><p> </p><p>"Is... Is this correct?" He questions, voice high and unsure. Dean's nodding all hurriedly, grabbing the hand that's currently rubbing his cock through the rough fabric of his jeans and pushing it down harder, the friction so delicious it makes his head spin. Castiel moans softly, eyes widening, fingers squeezing the bulge there slightly, his hand not being able to do much else now that Dean's using it for himself. </p><p> </p><p>It's so much and it's so good that Dean's climax is already bubbling to the surface, threatening to overflow. It hasn't been but a few minutes and he's already dripping in sweat with trying to hold back — to make it last as long as possible. He doesn't think this kind of thing with Castiel will ever happen again, so he's trying his best to savor this so he can store this memory later to revisit. </p><p> </p><p>He'll remember the way Castiel's eyes flicker when Dean keens at him rubbing his thumb under where the tip of his cock lay, mimicking what he recollects Dean doing to him. He'll remember the way Castiel licks his lips when his eyes track beads of sweat rolling down Dean's neck. He'll remember the way he leans into him slightly with every grind of Dean's hips against his palm — and he'll definitely remember the way Castiel can't help but moan when Dean yanks his arm down further to get closer, closer, God, <em>please</em>. </p><p> </p><p>All too soon, his pleasure is building to a crescendo and all he can do is whine out, "nngh, Caaas — <em>ah</em>," with his voice so high and full that it's fit to burst. It's so intense, everything's so intense — it always is with Castiel — but he's barely doing anything and he's about to come in his jeans like a teenager. </p><p> </p><p>"You look good like this, Dean," Castiel whispers, voice husky and low and<em> fuck</em>, if he keeps using that voice he's definitely not going to last much longer. "I've always wanted to know what you looked like during an act of intercourse and it very much lives up to it's name. I don't think I have ever seen a creature as gorgeous as you in all the millennia that I have been alive." </p><p> </p><p>God, Dean doesn't even know what he's saying. All he can register is that he's shaking and panting and oh, shit, he's coming, coming, <em>ah </em>— </p><p> </p><p>He makes a mess of his jeans, a dark, wet spot pooling and spreading through the fabric there. His breath gets caught on an exhale, punched out of him like he got winded, cock jumping and pulsing in its confinement. Castiel watches in heated curiosity as Dean whimpers, grinding up messily against his hand. It's so good, so addicting and heady and he's getting lightheaded with how much it's making his head throb, waves and waves of heat tumbling down his body like it's a race to the finish line. He's both hot and cold at the same time, somehow, and he's shaking and he almost thinks <em>oh, god, too much, too much </em>— before it ebbs away, slowly, slowly, until he blinks away the tears in his eyes and it's over. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Trembling with tiny aftershocks of pleasure, body buzzing and twitching, he manages to let go of Castiel's hand, watching him pull it back and rest it back onto his lap clumsily. Dean's too tired to care about the heavy awkwardness that threatens to hang in the air, trying to fight the sleep that's creeping up on him. He's so used to falling asleep shortly after he finishes, so it's hard for him to break that habit, eyes threatening to fall shut. He shakes his head slightly to shock himself back awake. </p><p> </p><p>"Uh... T-Thanks, buddy," is all Dean can think to say, voice slurring, body feeling like lead. Castiel tilts his head at him and squints, clearly not nearly as sluggish like how Dean is. Dean wonders briefly if it's because he's an angel and he doesn't really get tired, but the thought is gone as soon as it came, unable to really focus on anything for more than a second. He can't help but yawn, left hand coming up to scrub down his face. He knows he needs to clean up the mess that's currently drying in his pants but he just can't be bothered to. Nothing seems to be more tempting than sleep right now. </p><p> </p><p>"You are tired," states Castiel. </p><p> </p><p>"<em>Mmmh</em>," Dean hums in agreement. </p><p> </p><p>And within the span of a breath, Castiel is leaned down, scooping up Dean in his arms like he weighs nothing, stunning Dean into a shocked silence. Dean immediately wraps his arms around Castiel's neck, too overcome with the need for sleep to really freak out about what's going on like he normally would. Castiel turns around to face the bed again, making his way over to the side and plopping Dean down on it with a bounce. Dean immediately sinks into the mattress, going pliant and limp, burying his head deeper into the pillow. </p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, Cas," mumbles Dean, voice muffled. the ends of Castiel's lips tilt up in a ghost of a smile, eyes shining. </p><p> </p><p>"No — Thank you, Dean. I appreciate you showing me how to properly manually stimulate myself. Maybe next time we may try oral stimulation?" </p><p> </p><p>Dean's so exhausted that his brain barely registers Castiel's words, but when they do, his head snaps over to where Castiel is standing a few feet away from the bed, eyes glued to him. He's not smiling, not <em>really</em>, but you can tell he's definitely amused and Dean lets out a snort, head flopping back down on the pillow. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, sure, Cas. We'll do that." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comments bring me serotonin!!! pls let me know wht u think !!!!! i am always looking to improve :33 </p><p>twt: @cisphobecas</p></blockquote></div></div>
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